


It Was Foretold

by EdinaSaunders



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24085174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdinaSaunders/pseuds/EdinaSaunders
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley already saved the world, but when prophetess Britanelle Trillow gets thrown their way, will they be prepared for the war to come?
Relationships: Aziraphale (Good Omens)/Original Female Character(s), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)/Original Female Character(s), Crowley (Good Omens)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	It Was Foretold

"Agh! This is absolutely ridiculous! Pointless! Stupid!" Britanelle screamed at her latest book of prophecies, more of a journal really, though nothing she wrote even sounded like a plausible sentence. It all felt like utter gibberish to her. She threw it to the ground next to the bench she sat on. She pulled her knees up to her chin and rested her forehead on them. She would not cry. She absolutely would not—

"Feeling troubled," a man with a pleasant voice asked. Britanelle looked up to see him, blinking back the film of tears that had formed in her eyes.

"You could say that," she replied.

"Anything I can help with," he asked, seating himself beside her.

Britanelle huffed. "Not unless you happen to know anything about prophecy."

"Prophecy? Well I happen to know quite a bit on the subject. Bit of a passion of mine, you might say."

Britanelle's eyes lit up, and she cocked an eyebrow at the man. "Really?"

"Oh, yes. The name's Aziraphale, by the way. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss..." Aziraphale trailed off, realizing he’d completely forgotten his manners and never even asked the girl's name.

"Trillow. Britanelle Trillow. Most people simply call me Brit."

"Well it’s a lovely name regardless," Aziraphale complimented with a smile. "I have this little bookshop if you ever want to stop by," he continued, but Britanelle interrupted.

"Actually, would you mind if I came with you now? I’ve really nowhere else to go."

Of course, her plight appealed to Aziraphale's kind nature, and he could hardly refuse her. "Why I’d be delighted to take you," he said, springing up from the bench. Britanelle dropped her knees from their tucked up position at her chest and bent down to pick up her prophecy journal. Tucking it away in her bag, she tried to put it from her mind and focus on enjoying a walk. Aziraphale seemed kind, not likely to throw her in a car and discard her body in a riverbed at the very least.

He offered her his arm in an antiquated gesture of chivalry. Shaking her head a little, with a crack of a smile now playing at the corner of her lips, she looped her arm through his and they walked arm in arm, all the way back to his bookshop.

As the little bell on the door rang, Britanelle was surprised to see a man there, who’d jumped up like an overexcited dog happy to see his master return home from work. "Angel, you’re back," this other man exclaimed, who clearly more than just a customer based on the all too friendly pet name he’d used. But his face fell at seeing that Aziraphale had her in tow. "And you’ve brought in a stray, I see."

"Forgive him, he’s not one for manners. Crowley, this is Britanelle, she’s a prophetess."

"You leave for half an hour and bring us home a prophetess? We've already saved the bloody world, what do we need one of those for?"

"I think it’s fate," Aziraphale went on, ignoring Crowley's protestations. It was clear that Aziraphale was excited about this, about her, and Crowley...considerably less so.

"So, what is it Britain, world ending again?"

"I...don’t know. I can’t seem to decipher any of my prophecies. Aziraphale thought he could help so he—"

"Brought you here," Crowley finished for her. "Course he did. And just what do you plan on doing with little miss prophetess, hmm Aziraphale?"

"Listen, don’t be mad at me. She looked very distraught, and I couldn’t just leave her there, she had nowhere else to go."

"Look, if I’m intruding on, ah...whatever this is, I can just go. Really, I’ll find my way."

"Brilliant! Been nice meeting you. Goodbye," Crowley said.

"No, Britanelle, wait. Crowley, she is staying with us." What transpired next was some sort of stare, a silent showdown of wills perhaps, but no matter how she thought of it, no words seemed accurate enough to describe what she was witnessing. Britanelle froze in place as Aziraphale just looked at Crowley with intensity, conveying what, she couldn’t even hazard a guess. Several tense seconds passed as she watched this exchange. Finally, it resulted in Crowley letting out a deep sigh.

"Fine. The girl stays," he conceded. She didn’t know how he’d done it, but she was grateful that Aziraphale had been able to convince him. She didn’t wish to step on anyone’s toes, but she really was want for a place to stay, and this place felt homey to her, like perhaps she belonged there.

As Britanelle's eyes wandered the room, Aziraphale filled the tense silence. "Brit, why don’t you sit down? I’d be happy to take a look at your journal if you’ll allow me." Her eyes fell to him after skimming over bookshelf after bookshelf. She nodded once, overly aware of Crowley's eyes on her every move. She sat her bag on the corner of a crowded desk, sliding a few things askew in the process. After a moment of ruffling around, she pulled out the tan, leather journal, worn from overuse, and handed it over.

Aziraphale opened the volume as if it were sacred, gingerly sliding the clasp open and making sure not to bend the spine too far, even though Britanelle herself had used and abused each and every page, the cover and spine included. He read the words atop the first page. They were hen scratch at best, and the pencil lead had smeared from as many times as she’d run her fingers over the words, trying to make sense of them.

One from above, one from below, will know they’ve found their destiny by the caw of the crow.

Aziraphale read the words aloud, and the shrieking caw of a crow punctuated the end of them. All three of them looked toward the sound, seeing a ruffle of black feathers as the bird took off from the windowsill. "Seems you really are a genuine prophetess," Aziraphale declared. "Though I never doubted it," he added, smiling wide at Britanelle.

"Ah, coincidence," Crowley grumbled, hating the fact that Aziraphale had been right. He knew better though. It wasn’t a coincidence, and whatever the arrival of this girl meant for them, they were going to have to be ready for it.


End file.
